Holding Back
by OhSoDeadly
Summary: York goes looking for Carolina and finds her looking at old footage of CT, and wrangling a problem she can't comprehend. Set post-episode 10. One-shot, hint of Yorkalina.


York opened the door to the rec room and stuck his head inside. A haphazard jumble of couches and armchairs stared back at him, all empty. She wasn't here either.

He sighed, hit the open/close switch on the bulkhead and padded off down the corridor again. The normally crowded corridors of the _Mother of Invention _were nearly deserted, absent of the usual black-and-white population of Freelancer personnel, punctuated by the occasional splash of colour. Sometimes he just stayed in one place, lounged on a corner, and watched for that telltale clue of who was going past. Maybe it would be orchid-and-green North and South, engaging in good-natured bickering. Maybe it would be grey-and-yellow Wash, head buried in a field manual until he bumped into someone. Maybe it would be white-and-orange Maine, striding forward and making people part before him like the Red Sea.

But even if there had been people about, York knew deep down he would not have seen a flash of seafoam-green.

_That is dubious, York. Statistically speaking, the chances of any Freelancer agent being in this particular corridor of the ship are roughly equal, accounting for unknown variables and combat readiness levels onboard-_

"Enough, D!" he snapped, and then regretted it. It wasn't Delta's fault. "Look, just…retire for now. I could use some quiet."

_Complying. _

He went back to the elevator and considered his options. He'd tried the training room, the hangar bay and the rec room now. So where did that leave?

On a sudden impulse he hit the intercom button. FILSS' calm voice sounded out. "Hello, Agent York. Do you require assistance?"

"Data hive, FILSS. Make it snappy."

"Of course, Agent York." The door slid shut, and the elevator started moving down.

After fifteen seconds, the door slid open and York walked into the low-ceilinged room that was the data hive. Down here, huge computers and storage units sat silently, apart from the occasional hum or beep. Everything one could possibly want to know about Project Freelancer.

Except what the Director didn't want them to know. And there was plenty of that.

Threading his way between the stacks, he finally saw her, facing a monitor, her face intent, unblinking. She was still wearing her armour.

He spoke up, but not too loudly. He didn't want to scare her. She could be like that, sometimes. The bravest woman he'd ever known, but she was restless. Always, always restless. He'd hadn't seen her relax, or even smile, for a long time.

"Carolina?"

Her head jerked up, eyes narrowing, but they softened when they saw him standing there in his jeans and t-shirt. "York. Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"I could ask you the same question." His voice was gentle, but probing. It was a tone he'd had to use too many times lately.

She turned back to the screen. 'Just…looking at some old footage."

"What, exactly?"

"CT."

That name brought his attention to the fore. It had only been a week since their mission to the Insurrectionist base, where they'd finally taken down the bastards who'd been hounding them for so long. And where Connecticut, a defector from the project, had met her end at Tex's hands. The leader had escaped, though. Truthfully? York didn't care about that. Nothing had changed, not really.

Carolina had never wanted CT to die. She'd consistently referred to her as a member of the team, even after she left. When Tex and Carolina had emerged from that room, the former striding past them without so much as a look, Carolina had followed, trembling with fury. York had tried to calm her down, but all he got as a shove for his troubles. The ride back had been even worse, complete silence. Except for D, chattering away in his head.

But why Carolina would be looking at footage of her late teammate, he couldn't fathom. "Looking for something?"

She waved a hand absently. "Come. Come look at this."

Slowly, reluctantly, he moved to stand by her side. The screen flickered, and another recording started.

CT stood in the training room, arms up in a traditional combat position. Facing her was Agent Iowa, a regular contender for the top leaderboard. The timestamp marked this as nearly two months ago. And five days before their mission to the Insurrectionist shipyard, where CT had deserted.

FILSS' voice rang out in the video. "Begin!"

The fight was on. Iowa was nothing special, but he was wily, and he often feinted weakness or incompetence in order to urge an opponent forward, only to trick them with sudden displays of skill. This had never worked for the Freelancer elite, who often saw through such attempts and took him down quickly. But CT was not in the elite, and never had been.

As Iowa blocked an elbow from CT and retaliated with a fearsome punch to the visor, Carolina paused the recording. York looked at her. 'What?"

She pointed at the screen. "She should have dodged that. When…" Carolina paused, and continued, her voice harder than it had been. "When we found her at the base, she was fast. Faster than she'd ever been before. Even without her armour enhancement. There was no reason she should have been hit."

Hitting the play button, the recording continued. Carolina continued to point out flaws, errors and mistakes that CT had made. Mistakes, Carolina vehemently emphasised, she should not have made. Not for someone who had displayed the level of skill in that base.

When it finished (Iowa winning by six points), she turned the screen off and turned back to York. 'I've gone through all the other videos I could find of CT. They're all like this. She lost so many fights, she lost so many points-"

"Lina." York wasn't sure what she was getting at, but enough was enough, and he reached out and touched her wrist, gently. "What's this about?"

She twitched. Carolina didn't like to be touched, not by anyone. She prided herself on being like the wind, untouchable, unbeatable. But ever since Texas had arrived, she'd lost a lot of her aloofness. Unfortunately, it had been replaced with a growing frustration and anger towards everyone.

A few seconds went by, then she said, "CT was holding herself back. This whole time. Ever since…God, I don't know!" She sprang up suddenly, throwing off York's hand, and began to pace. Hands went to grasp crimson strands of hair. "She could have been one of the best. On the leaderboard, easily. She was good enough to keep up with me AND Tex, even with backup. Christ, she could have been so much more. More than a-a-"

"A traitor." York followed her, placed his hand on her shoulder this time. 'Look, Carolina. She made her decision. I don't like what happened either, but…" He sighed, and looked away. "We're soldiers. We get our orders, and we follow them. That's the score."

She snarled. "Killing her was _never _in our orders! We were just there to retrieve the armour and capture the rebel leader! It was Tex who killed her, goddamn Texas who thinks she's a law unto herself, the director's fucking pet reaper." She slammed a fist into the wall and growled. "I hate her."

"I know. And you have ever since she showed up." York went to stand beside her again, not too far, not too close. It was how he usually stood, when near her. Every time he mentally checked, _York, are you standing too close? Don't scare her off. _And Delta would tell him that their proximity was within socially accepted standards and that he did not understand what he meant.

He'd be watching her back for so long now, trying to screw up the courage to tell her how he felt…that he didn't really understand either. All he knew was that in these troubled times, Carolina needed someone there to help her. Even if she wanted to be a lone wolf. A dangerous attitude for a leader.

They stood like this for a time, Carolina slumped against the wall, head down, York standing cautiously at her side. After a few minutes, she raised her head, and shook the strands from her face. "I don't know why she did it. She was a good soldier. An even better fighter. We could have done great things. Why did she leave?"

York didn't know the answer to that, though if he was somewhere that probably wasn't miked up to the hilt (D had found three in his room already) he would have guessed it had something to do with the AIs. But he wasn't, so he just shrugged and said:

"Because she believed in something else. We were on different teams. It just took her a while to realise it."

The silence lingered between them. Carolina drew herself up, gave a curt nod. "Right. That's that. Let's go, York." She brushed past him, donning her helmet once again, the one that looked like it was permanently scowling. It was a good bet her face underneath was no different. They wore masks, all of them. Then the mask slipped and revealed the face underneath. And woe betide you if it wasn't to the Director's liking…

York watched her go, then followed her. Not too close, not too far.


End file.
